FEAR: Burning Inferno
by Riyougi
Summary: Follow what happens to Point Man after the crash and to Becket locked away in his prison on Still Island and to the dead specter Fettle. Together the trio go after Alma to stop her reign of terror or to try and save her - This is my own version of FEAR 3
1. Crash Site  FairPort City Point Man

**F.E.A.R: Burning Inferno**

**Disclaimer: I don't own F.E.A.R or the characters of F.E.A.R**

**A/N: **This story is my first attempt at a F.E.A.R story. This story will follow the events after F.E.A.R's ending and I will combine both to show what happened to Beckett after F.E.A.R 2 - making my own version of FEAR 3. I have played the game F.E.A.R 3 and I don't mind it, but it didn't hold the same light as the other games. Ending was not what I expected, but it has given me ideas. I hope you like my story. Please Enjoy :)

**Interval 1: Crash Site – Fairport City (Point Man)**

Sounds...

He had remembered the sounds – a dry resounding scream of a woman and then a massive and terrible explosion. The earth had rumbled under his feet and the wind howled angrily against his body. All at once, all sounds had merged into one singular and deafening vibe that thrashed at his body, throwing him away effortlessly to the breeze.

Then - there was silence.

He had blacked out. He recalled regaining consciousness a few times – though all was blurred and vague to his recollection. He recalled seeing a giant blur descend upon, a blast of wind stirring about him and the ruins he lay in and a friendly voice calling out to him.

'_...They came for me..._'

He remembered more sounds - there was sparks of electricity and the tearing of metal. There was a noise of an engine suddenly firing and then failing, and the odd noise of the main propeller blades spinning lifelessly in the wind. He could hear the outside world was spinning about him, in an unpredictable manner.

'..._The helicopter..._'

Voices... there were voices. Frighten, confused and heighten words being screamed from all around him. He no longer remembered the meaning of the words, but he recalled hearing them. They sounded different, mixed with tones and accents; a male and a woman. All he could hear now was a continuous ringing in both his ears, bringing with it a deafening sensation.

'_...Sergeant Holiday...Jin..._'

Pain... he felt the burns upon his flesh and the aching of his bones. His muscles screamed in agony and his nerves were firing with an overload of painful signals up his spine and into his brain. There was a warm liquid upon him; he could feel it in numerous places all over his body. The metallic smell of blood was strong in the air; it filled his nostrils leaving nothing else to enter.

Darkness... he couldn't see anything but the darkness before him. He could feel that his eyelids were open, but his vision had not changed. There was no light or faint glow of any kind to break the dark. He could see nothing. Though his sight was missing, his eyes began to burn with pain and he could feel a sting as blood flooded into his eyes. For the moment he had to keep his eyelids shut, whether they still worked or not. Opening them now would allow more blood into his eyes, keeping his vision blurred - that's if he could see anymore. The thought had entered his mind, but he tried to dismiss it. The darkness could merely be the result of an injury. His couldn't feel any wounds upon his face or head, but his whole body was screaming all at once – all wounds felt joined together; he wasn't sure how bad he had suffered. Perhaps, this was just one more.

A quick breeze rolled in from somewhere before the Point Man that tickled at his exposed flesh. It caused a few wounds to sing out in pain, but it was rather refreshing on the burns.

_...__get__...__up__..._

There came a whispered upon the wind - It was soft, barely auditable and totally unknown to his ears. Point Man wasn't even sure he had heard anything against the ringing in his ears, but he felt something draw his attention to it. He listened, but there was nothing. He tried vainly to filter past the ringing, but it still left him with nothing but his own shallow breathing. He dismissed it as nothing more than an echo on the wind or someone nearby.

'H-he...hello...' He tried to speak, to call out even, but his throat was dry and sore. The Point Man grunted and groaned in agony of his wounds, which seemed to be the only noise he could muster is his current condition.

_Getting... soft are we, private? ...Move... that's an order..._

The Point Man froze. He even held his breathing this time to hear the whispers properly. He strained his ears, but the whispers had fallen silent again. He allowed his lips to part and let the air he held inside of his chest to rush out. Whatever he was hearing, he knew he wasn't going to catch it, unless it was screaming at him.

The Point Man, tried from laying around and unknowing his own condition and how bad he was, took a deep breath, steady what muscle he could without causing too much pain and slowly began moving his limbs. He started with his smaller extremities, starting first with his toes. He felt each toe wiggle freely in his socks and combat style boots on both feet, though his actions caused some pain and discomfort higher up along his shins and upper thigh. He made a quick mental note of each pain he felt and where, so he could address them later.

Next, he motioned his fingers and thumbs to move. The right hand seemed fine, minus a few scratches. Each responding normally and without any difficulties or pain - but his left hand was stiff and his pinkie was dislocated from its joint. He could feel brunt flesh on his left arm, just below the elbow. The whole left side of his body was rather tender and sore. He concluded he must have taken the majority of the damage to his left.

'_Not too bad... considering_' he thought, allowing himself to exhale.

He could feel sweat starting to form on his skin, after such small examination. His chest was already painful, but the sweat added a quick sigh of relief and then added a painful burn to follow up.

He ignore as much of the pain he could for the moment. Now, he had to see how bad the major limbs had suffered and where or not he was in dire situation.

Again, he took a deep breath and steadies his muscles, before attempting to move his legs. The muscles in the legs responded to his will, sending a choir of painful messages to his brain, before actually moving as he commanded. He felt numerous cuts, a few which were deep enough to draw blood and the rest were nothing but mere scrapes. His legs felt rather heavier than normal, but he didn't feel any additional pressure weighing them down. He concluded they must be weary from lack of use, but overall, still in fine condition.

The next step was his torso. Point Man could feel his torso was already in large amounts of pain simply from just laying there. His back was sore and tender and he could feel countless bruisers had formed while he was out. Regardless at this stage, he had to push on. He mustered up his strength and began to wiggle his torso and shoulders. They responded a lot quicker than the legs, but they gave up a lot more pain. Point man could feel sweat was now flooding his entire body. These examinations were requiring a lot of effort and putting far too much stress on his already batted body. But he had to keep going – to rest and recover would not help him to get out of here any quicker.

'_Alright... the final push_' he thought, taking in a last bit of air before trying to sit up.

He felt the burn in his stomach and his back and legs as he tensed his muscles to help sit up. This brought upon him a world of pain. His whole body burned from the mere effort and he felt his wounds were opening more and allowing precious blood to escape. It was becoming too much for him. His body was too damage to require such movement. He felt the world falling away from him as he began losing hold on of consciousness.

_...giving up already, private? You can rest when you're dead... I didn't think you this weak..._

At his final bit of strength, just on the verge of losing consciousness, he heard the voices - this time, he heard them clear. It wasn't some voice drifting on the wind as he had thought, but rather, he was hearing something in his mind that was speaking out to him; a memory replaying in his mind. Yet, he could not tell who was speaking or even what stage of his life he recalled hearing this. The voice was old, yet it commanded with pride and experience.

Point Man wasn't sure about what he was remembering, but hearing this old voice stirred something in him. He felt an unknown fire rage inside him. The fire rose up and fuelled him with strength. The voice in this memory had called out to him, provoked him onwards, driving his motivation and conviction even at the point of complete exhaustion.

The pain in his body subsided and he was able to sit up with greater ease than before. He still felt his wounds and sore, but they didn't hinder like before.

The Point Man, now sitting upright, allowed a welcoming sigh of relief to escape his lips. It had taken a lot of effort and even more, but he was slowly making a move to get out of here. His head swam with pain now. The blood was now rushing away from his head and filtering out to the rest of his body. It was a small relief but a welcomed one. Once the last of additional blood left his head, the Point Man felt suddenly light head and faint. He quickly summoned his stable right hand to support his head, before it toppled sideways, taking him back down again.

As his hand grasped to support his head, he felt his hand collide with his combat helmet. It surprised him that it was still atop his head, but he was thank-full it was still on him, still protecting. His hand slowly felt the exterior of the helmet, moving from his right side all the way round. The helmet, like him, was badly damage. His fingers could feel the scars, cracks and dints.

As his hand past onto his eyes and the goggles that rested upon his nose, a small section on the helmet broke off and in turn his goggles cracked in half a long the bridge that joined the two halves.

From that, a soft glow filtered through his close eyelids. The glow of light was pulsating in the darkness, beating against his closed eyelids. It could b the glow of a fire or a light off a computer monitor or even a phone or radio. Whatever it could be, the Point Man welcomed it greatly.

He opened his eyes slowly, allowing them time to adjust.

From where the goggles now split apart, the Point Man could now see through. He couldn't see a great deal but it at least confirmed that he was not blind. Through the gap, he saw a fire - A small fire given its weak light. He had to conclude that the goggles' lens must have been covered up by something, to create the illusion that he was blind.

With that in mind, the Point Man reached for his helmet. He pushed it lazy with his right hand till it slid off the back of his crown. Both the goggles and helmet crashed to the floor behind him. He heard the goggles crack even more and the helmet rolled weakly off side somewhere. Next, the Point Man removed the black balaclava mask from his face.

He felt the sweat and blood covered mask slide effortlessly from his face and the air was quick to greet his skin with a cold wind. His dark hair dropped lazy upon his head. It was messy and sweaty now that the mask was gone. He slid his right hand through his hair, allowing the hair to stand up and lean back. His hair was now mid length. Before starting his mission as an F.E.A.R Operative, he had cut it short, but now it had grown back.

'_How long have I been in this hell?_' he questioned, running his fingers through his hair once more.

He had no answer. Time felt alien to him now. What he thought as a few days may be more like weeks – there was no way on telling till he found a computer that was still operational or someone who survived the blast who had a faint idea of the time or date.

Pushing that aside, Point Man, from where he sat, examined his situation and location.

The roof above him was gone, most likely collapsed in; as he could see the remains of the roof had littered the room around him. From what he could see of the room, it was rather small in size, something like a cheap apartment. He couldn't tell much aside from that, there was too much dust, too much rubble and not enough light to see. The wall that lay before him was cracked open, like something had ripped through it.

Through this opening, he could see a small portion of the ruins of Fairport City. It was night outside. There were fires burning somewhere close by. The buildings were all in ruins or nearly collapsed - windows were shattered, telephone lines hung lifelessly or littered the ground with their electrical power line, the road were crack and scared and cars were burnt down to their frames or tossed aside like garbage.

Point Man sighed heavily. First he felt sadness, but it was quickly overcome by guilt. He had caused this ruin. The Vault's reactor blowing was his doing, in an attempt to stop Alma. He was trying to keep her from escaping.

'_So much good that did_'

Point Man lowered his head in defeat. His vain attempt was for nothing. The city laid in ruin; the citizens were mostly likely all dead or wounded somewhere in the streets or buildings and the very monster he tried to stop was now free.

His thoughts and guilt weighed heavily upon him.

He stared blankly at his legs, his mind swarming with the sights of untold devastation that lay just outside, till he notice his lower stomach was bleeding. The blood dripped from his combat vest, which showed heavy signs of absorbed blood. Seeing his own blood, and in large amounts, brought in back to the reality of his situation and how badly he was wounded.

The Point Man reached into his vest, painfully, and retrieved the last remaining medical Kits he had on him. He laid the three kits just offside and opened the lids.

'Oh...shit' he groaned, as he stared at the contents of the kits.

Each kit had a supply of needles and surgical wire, bandages, small scissors and cotton pads - these were still intact and able to be used. However, the item he really required was not so lucky. Also supplied in the medical kits was a new medical advancement in health restoration. A red coloured injector tonic that helped the body in healing wounds and burns - a rapid healing medicine. In all three kits, each vile was broken. Even the antiseptic and morphine vile were shattered.

The Point Man sighed heavily in dismay, but then chuckled half-heartedly.

'Never easy...'

Seeing as he hadn't any other option, the Point Man grabbed at the needle and surgical wire and began to do his own painful treatment. Point Man knew he had to stop his major wounds from bleeding – he felt some big wounds under his combat vest, so he decided to start there. He began to remove his gloves from his hand – firstly, he re-located his left pinkie back into its proper place. A slight sting and rise in body temperature, but nothing compare to what was soon to follow. He removed the combat armour and it off side and then slowly removed his military made clothes from his body. The blood clung heavily to his shirt and he could feel, as he removed the shirt, that some wounds had began scabbing, using the shirts as an agent to help close the wound faster. As he removed the shirt, he felt multiple wounds reopen.

He tossed the shirt aside and set to work. He threaded the needle with the surgical wire and started to work on the major wound down on his lower stomach. He took a deep breath as he dug the needle into his own flesh. His body already screamed out in pain, now he was adding to it. Each time he dug the needle in and then out, and then pulling the wound closed with wire brought new levels of pain to the existing wound, but it the long run, it would heal faster than leaving it open to bleed. Once he had closed the wounds he took a roll of bandages from one of the medicals kits and began wrapping his newly treated wound. He wrapped the bandage rather tightly to ensure the wound wouldn't reopen so easily.

He tied the bandages off, cut the remaining bandage with the scissors so he could use it later, and then began working on the other opened wounds on his torso.

It was quick work after doing just one more stitch job on his torso. The other wounds were either small flesh wounds or burns and merely required bandaging to stop the bleeding. Having finished his upper body, the Point Man moved onto his legs.

He removed his pants without even shying away at the thought of exposing more of his body. He really didn't care for such thing, nor what people would think – if there were any people still alive.

There were only two major wounds on his legs, the rest were again small flesh wounds the just needed the bandages. His first wound he picked was a large opening that started from his left hip and stretched to his front quad, just above the knee. Again, using the needle and surgical wire brought the wound to a new realm of pain. His body turned a shade of red as he held in his screams of pain. Sweat was forming rapidly and falling off his body. Steam was rising from his heated body mixing with the cold air.

As he worked on his leg, his eyes began to wander away from his task. He was distracted with the voices he had heard before. The voice of an old man – it had stirred something in him, something from long ago. The voice had shown the Point Man as weak being and while it didn't sound harsh in tone, it still awoken a defiant rage within that help him push own past the point of sheer exhaustion. He was not weak and he proved it. Somehow he felt a smile creep onto his face, but he wasn't sure why.

Returning his focus to his leg, the Point Man finished off the wound. He had started to use his second bandage roll on this wound and looked like he would need more than his last roll to complete the rest. Point Man knew he couldn't spare to save bandages on such big wounds; he had to make sure the bandage held until the wound could close properly and handle his movements while it was healing. He quickly asset each wound that remain on his legs and made note of the bigger of the wounds that really needed the rest of the bandages. The rest he would have to suffer with until another medical kit could be located.

After that, he started on the next big wound on the back of his right leg. Before he could he had to grab a new roll surgical wire, as the one he held was nearly finished and it was not enough to finish this wound. He reached for the new surgical wire in the next medical kit next to him.

As he reached for it, he paused.

His eyes peered past the medical kit and rested upon the combat shirt that he had tossed aside. The shirt was badly discoloured from its usual combat style green – mostly because of his blood, but a few dirt and brunt marks were present. But what he just noticed was that there was a name sewn into the left shoulder. Sewn into the green fabricate, with thick black thread was the name:

**"WARREN"**

'Warren?' he repeated, slowly.

'_Is that my name?_'

He repeated the name, 'Warren' both in his mind and through his lips. Was that really his name? It was so long ago since anyone had addressed him using his real name; too long in fact. He couldn't even remember his name.

Point Man grabbed his head harshly, as he tried to force his mind to remember. He recalled names, but none that responded or felt like it belong to him – the name he did recall he knew belong to others he had encounter during his mission to hunt down Paxton Fettle and then to stop Alma.

With a defeating sigh, he dropped his hands and stared back at the name written into his shirt.

'Warren...' he breathed out.

Even as he said the name and tried to imagine someone calling him by that name, it didn't feel proper to him. Everyone address him simply as 'Point Man' as part of the F.E.A.R operation and military ruling protocol.

He blinked a few times, adjusting himself to accept this as his temporary name, until he could remember his proper name. He didn't like that idea and thought it rather degrading for someone to forget their own name, but with recent events and the constant headache and hallucination caused by Fettle and Alma reaching into his mind, perhaps this was a side effect to having his mind breached so harshly and under such tension. He really couldn't remember anything of his past life clearly, just imagines and voice, nothing clear and solid.

He stared at the name for a few more second before focusing back on closing his wounds.

'Warren...I guess... it will do'

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed the story. Please let me know what you think of my story. If anything wrong in this chapter please bring it to my attention and I will correct it. Thanks again


	2. Still Island  Sgt Beckett

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews. They help the correction and continuation of our (the writer) stories. I hope you like my take of the endings of F.E.A.R and F.E.A.R 2 and how they continue to make my own version of F.E.A.R 3. Thanks

**Interval 2: Struggle – Still Island (Sgt. Becket)**

He hadn't slept in days.

His entire body was sore, severely stiff and incredibly numb, mostly in his legs, from sitting constantly in the same chair. His wrists burned and ached from countless attempts to break the mechanical bonds that held his arms and legs firmly in place. He had tried so hard, he could feel blood beginning to trickle slightly from his wrist. The machine's lock was too strong for him and he was still weakened from his ordeal. He just needed to sleep for a couple of hours to regain some of his strength.

His eyes were growing ever so heavy, and the idea of sleep was always welcomed, yet he couldn't allow himself to sleep.

Every time he had closed his eyelids, he saw nothing but nightmares - horrific scenes of a burning city, of a burning world. He was seeing what Alma was imagining – her revenge against those that had wronged her, and even the innocent bystanders that got caught in the middle of it all. She left nothing to the imagination. The detail was so vivid he could almost feel it as something real. He could feel the burn, the hurt, the death. He awoke on a few occasions to simply vomit from such horrid visions.

His link to Alma was still connected. Even if she went far away, 'The Telesthetic Amplifier' he was still trapped in, powered his newly heighten psychic powers to new levels, pushing his mind further than he could contemplate. She could always reach him and, unfortunately, he could always feel her. Their minds were still linked. He thought he had shut the machine down, while he fought the phantoms of Keegan, but it appeared it was just a deception of his mind – a deception Alma had created.

'_It felt so real..._'

However, that was only half of what was keeping him from sleep. His mind was still recalling the rape. He kept remembering the fight he had within his mind against the phantoms of Keegan in the burning hell of a world, and at the same time, he could feel the terrible ordeal his body suffered in the process. He saw glimpses of the act, very time he tried to shut-down the Telesthetic Amplifier controls, when his mind was allowed to return to his body, before the machine amplified his psychic prowess again. He saw her beating him, screaming at him and defiling him, when his mind was elsewhere and his body lay defenceless.

He shivered every time he recalled it.

Becket lifted his limp head from his chest and allowed it to fall effortlessly against the head rest of the chair. His eyes were half opened and the skin under his eyes had darkened greatly. He was a prisoner in this device, both in the real world and in his own mind. There was no peace for him – no peace of sleep or freedom from this device. Not until someone on the outside shut-down the device and opened the bonds. He had tried to contact Sergeant Manuel, who he hoped might still be at the entrance, but the radio wasn't working inside the chamber; and Genevieve Aristide, who had trapped him inside the device, was only doing so to lure and contain Alma and use her as a threat over Armacham; intending to only release Alma if Armacham failed to do as she desired.

'Not much... chance of that happening any time... soon' he mumbled weakly.

He stared blankly at the roof of the Telesthetic Amplifier. Odd circles nodes line the walls in every direction, pointing a cone needle at him. At the base of each node was a blue florescent light that circled the node's base. In the dark, the chamber was lit up in a continuous clam, ocean blue. This indicated to him that the device was still receiving power, and that the node's needles where directing energy at him.

He didn't feel any powerfully enhancements in his telepathic abilities or the swarming of energy he was expecting to feel when he had watched Terry's video feed about how the device was meant to work against Alma. He felt rather normal now. Becket had assumed the device was not working properly as it should or that it wasn't working properly on him. However, when Alma had appeared suddenly in the chamber and engaged his mind with hers did Beckett actually then begin to feel the Telesthetic Amplifier working with his brain and allowing his telepathic abilities to increase.

She had somehow turned on the switch in his brain to allow him to use his untapped powers, and when he began using his telepathic abilities, he felt a sudden and unexpected rush overcome him. He felt his mind was somehow expanding beyond – he felt empowered. But at that time, so was she. As the device increased his powers, Alma's power increased as well.

Now – with Alma no longer engaging his mind, he couldn't feel the rush. He felt normal again. His brain functioned as he felt it always had.

His mind wasn't trained to use these abilities. Becket was a soldier, not a psychic commander. He was trained in physical combat, advance weaponry and tactical assault and reconnaissance, not in using his brain's power. He had read the Project Harbinger reports he found at the Auburn Memorial Hospital's underground ATC hospital facility, reporting and detailing on his level of telepathic potential - but he didn't really believe in it. He wasn't able to move thing with his mind, or read people's thought or do anything like what Alma was capable of. He couldn't remember any time in his life when he did anything like that. He was just a soldier.

'_Perhaps that why the machine isn't working – I lack the psychic training to use these power_' he thought to himself. '_I guess I should have signed up for that one at basic training..._'

He chuckled lightly at his own joke, but stopped when he felt even laughing was exhausting.

Suddenly, his mind erupted with pain. His head felt like it was on fire and ready to burst from his skull. Sweat poured from his heated skin as the pain increased. He tried to grasp his head, but the chair's bonds held them in place. He locked his teeth together and shut his eyelids tight, summoning what strength he had to minimise the massive headache. He shook violently in the chair, using the pain from the headache to spur on his strength to somehow break free from the chair. Unfortunately, it hadn't work.

After a few seconds, the headache began to ease.

As suddenly as it had struck him, was it quick to fade away. He felt his brain beginning to regulating normally and the pain disappearing. He breathed heavily for a bit till he regained his normal composer. He gave out one last, long deep breath, allowing his skin to cool and retain his natural tan complexion and to let his gritted teeth to finally unlock. Yet, he did not open his eyes.

These massive and crippling headaches – despite their painful nature, served him as a forewarning. And he knew all too well the cause.

'_She's back...again_' he thought.

'...Alma...' he sighed bitterly.

For a moment, the chamber grew unnaturally still; cold and lifeless. But, in an instant, the chamber almost felt like it suddenly expanded, and that Beckett was in locked in the middle of a vast void.

His ears twitched as he heard her giggle at the mere mention of her name. The giggle echoed with an otherworldly sensation, even though the chamber didn't create any echoes. As strange as it was, the giggle was of a vengeful child trapped in a woman's body.

'Hello...Sergeant Beckett' she cooed, before giggling again.

Beckett tightened his grip on the chair's arm, turning his knuckles almost clear white, as he felt his anger begin to rise as she spoke to him. He could not forget what she had done to him, and every time she returned, he felt only anger.

He kept his eye lids firmly locked in place, not wanting to see the woman who has defiled him. It was his way of showing Alma his detestation towards her.

But it wasn't enough. Even though he closed his eyes, Alma could still penetrate his mind. Images of her naked figured and messed up long black hair, broke through the blackness his eyes created. The images that were forced into his mind, appeared like flash of a camera in the dark, illuminating what was hidden in the dark. She appeared, as always, with a strange aura about her; something like a wild fire that moved like a wind-storm about her figure. And she always chose to appear to him as a youthful woman, rather than appearing as the anorexia, frail woman like corpse he had seen before.

Still, even with his eyes closed, he was still able to see her.

But he knew this already. He knew that closing his eyes would not stop her reaching into him. He had done this every time she had returned to him and not once had he successfully block her. But he was fine with that, in part. To him, it meant that she would have to force herself to get him to 'see' her. He would not do it willingly. She would have to force herself to be seen and acknowledged by him from now on.

'You look awful' she stated, sounding slightly sympathetic and sincere. He noted the attempt of feeling behind her words, but he still felt the words to be hollow. She had no understanding of such feelings.

Becket then felt Alma's hand caress his face. He wanted to move away from it, but again, he couldn't. Her hand was gentle and soft, yet her fingers felt rather weak at the mere touching of his face, like there was no strength behind the motion. He also noticed the lack of warmth in her hands. Her hand felt cold and damp, like she had just gotten out of water. He found it rather odd that her skin felt rather damp, especially after every time he had seen her or her horrific apparitions of herself, wreathed in flames or surrounded by harsh winds. He even noted the slight bit of hesitation in her fingers at the mere touching of his face.

More flashes of Alma penetrated his mind. He could see from his mind, how close she was to him now. There was little to no distance between them. Her body was close to his – and he could feel his whole body tingling to confirm the lack of space his mind was seeing.

He wanted to pull away from her, but the chair held him firmly in place.

Alma must have felt his attempted retreat and the tension in his body, for her hand stopped moving upon his face.

There was an uneasy stillness between them. Beckett heard nothing but his own breath and slowly increasing heartbeat. The penetrating imagines of Alma also stop entering his mind. Beside her hand upon the left side of his face, he could have thought she had gone. Beckett was left wondering what was happening. At times like this, he wanted to use his eyes, to asset the situation, but he thought against it.

'_Ignorance is bliss – that is what they say_' he reminded himself, choosing not to open his eyes.

Alma's hand slowly slipped from his face as a small sigh exhaled from her lips.

As it did, Beckett felt Alma's body weight shifted. He felt her body fall upon him, her body resting mostly upon his upper leg, like she was sitting on him and he then felt her forehead resting upon the top of his crown. Beckett tried to move away again, but the chair continued to hold him still.

After adjusting her position on Beckett, Alma remained still.

She didn't say anything, nor did she try to project imagines of herself on top of him. She just remained still, breathing softly, leaving her body to rest against Beckett.

Beckett was again left to wonder what was happening. He didn't try to move. He kept his breathing to a minimal, though his heartbeat was now racing, creating more demand for air.

In the quiet and stillness of the chamber between him and Alma, Beckett mind was quick to remind him of his rape. The position she took was right for a repeated act.

Perhaps... she wanted more...

'_No... Not Again!_'

Beckett tensed up. His muscles slightly bulked up as his heart began pump blood throughout his system, injecting a great deal of adrenaline into his blood stream to help him either knock her off him or, as he hoped, to break the bonds on the chair.

But - Beckett felt no movement from Alma. She was rather limp in her position, expect for her keeping her forehead on top of his head. Had she wanted to do a repeat of the sexual act, she would have done some action by now to promote her intended desire. She would have engage his mind in that horrible hell like waste land like before and began raping his body while his mind was elsewhere, or she would have moved her pelvis forward towards his groin more.

Instead, she just sat there.

His body began to calm down a bit, sensing a lack of danger. He kept his mind sharp and his instinct ready. He was still being cautious; this could be a trick to lull him into a false sense of security.

Besides feeling her weight upon his legs and her forehead of his head, Alma made no other major movement. Her hair was blanketing his face. Her hair felt damp, with some water dripping upon his heated skin. He wanted to shake her hair from his face, as the hair and the drips of water irritated him. But he held his stance, not wanting to move, just in case this is what Alma was trying to make him do.

As he sat there, waiting for something to happen, Beckett began to smell something. There was a strange musk coming from Alma's hair and from her body. The smell was rather strong and clung heavily to her. He inhaled softly to asset the odour.

The smell hit is nose hard. It almost made him gag and his eyes want to water. The smell was a combination of things mixed together – most he couldn't place, but there were two he could smell clearly: blood and water. Beckett understood why blood was easy to smell on Alma, having seen firsthand her attacks on his Delta team and perhaps countless others; but the water was the one that still confused him.

Alma began to move.

Beckett against tensed up as he felt both of Alma's hands gently touch his face. She kept herself rather still while her hands did their work on his face – again no real purpose that he could tell besides just feeling his feature. Like before, the darkness behind his eye lids were broken as she penetrated his mind, but instead of multiple flashes of imagines, she forced Beckett's consciousness outside of his body.

He appeared, standing offside from the chair watching his body and Alma. He almost didn't notice he had been given a form till he felt the urge to move his arms and felt the freedom of movement. It wasn't some vision Alma had imprinted into his mind, he was actually outside his body. He was like a ghostly apparition of himself. His spirit-like figure was a tainted yellow, but heavily detail as if he was real, though he was transparent.

'Wow... is this what an outer body experience feels like?' he asked himself, slightly mumbling his words as he stared at the astral form he was in.

Beckett heard his words come from his lips, both from his astral form and from his body, still locked in the chair. Beckett covered his mouth in surprise. His astral form did as he willed, but because his body was still restrained, it couldn't.

'_Okay... that's interesting..._' he noted.

He saw himself in the chair and he could see how terrible he looked from someone else's point of view. Blood and dirt hung heavily to both his clothes and his skin. His face was darken with a few spots of blood, clear signs of lack of sleep and just a general ill look from not resting or eating in a while.

After examining his body for a bit, his attention was quickly drawn to Alma. She began to glow brightly against the blue of the chamber, in her own aura. Her skin reflected as a bright white, a clear sign she has never been outside in the sun for a long time. He saw some signs of dirt and blood on her legs and hands, but the rest of her was clean. Beckett assumed this is what Alma wanted him to see of her – not something covered in blood, which was more a monster than human and only sought revenge and chaos, but in fact, a person like him.

She was still caressing his face, which he could still feel in this form.

There came a sudden flash that seem too radiated from Alma's body. It was quick, bright, hardly painful, but it was enough for Alma to have moved from Beckett's body to standing right before his astral projection of himself.

Beckett was surprised by Alma's sudden appearance before him, yet as much as he wanted to move away, he couldn't move. His legs and the rest of his astral form weren't responding any more. He tried to 'move' but nothing happened. Alma had conjured this form for him, so it was hers' to control.

Reluctantly, he stared down at Alma and she stared back at him. Having him actually looking at her, despite it being against his will, she appeared to be pleased. Beckett could see a smile spreading on her lips, hidden slightly by her hair. As Alma smiled, her lips brighten in colour, becoming a strong lush of red.

'_What are you smiling for?_' he thought.

Beckett thought Alma might be able to read his thoughts, but the woman didn't respond. She just continued to stare at him with that seemly happy smile on her face.

Alma stepped forward slightly, reaching for Beckett's astral hand. She grasped his hand as though he was real and placed his hand on her pregnant stomach.

As she positioned Beckett's hand upon her stomach, Beckett felt suddenly strange. He felt overwhelmed somehow. The feeling was strong, yet incredibly unknown to him, but he could feel it washing over him, overpowering him. He felt strong at first, but the feeling changed quickly and he felt rather ill instead. There was a surge of heat being emitted from his hand and it only got hotter. Beckett could see that Alma's stomach was glow a bright red.

Beckett started to scream. He could hear his scream coming from both his astral form and from his body; both screaming in unison. This pain gave him control over the astral form, whereas before, Alma had control of her creation of him.

But it was too late to do anything.

A powerful blast of energy erupted from Alma's stomach, disintegrated Beckett's astral form into dust that scattered in the wind.

Beckett launched forward in the chair, still screaming. The blast of energy had surged through the astral form and overloaded its form, causing Alma's creation to fry and dissipate. But because it was a creation of Beckett's consciousness, he felt the incredible burn as the connection between his astral form and body were disconnected.

Panting heavily, Beckett struggled violently in the chair. His action was like that of a wild animal. He felt an uncontrollable buzz shooting through his entire body that was frying his muscles and nerve endings. He felt like he had been electrified; inside and out. His skin was red and sweating – his clothes darken quickly with the amount of sweat he produced. It was pouring from his flesh. He felt like he was burning and tingling all over. Steam was rising from his skin and his clothes, colouring the air within the chamber in a slight haze.

After a while, his screams soften and his body responsive. He was able to calm down and regain control. He ending his thrashing about in the chair with a sudden stopped; thrusting his back into the chair. The chair buckled at such force, but retained its hold. His body still twitched in reflex to the pain, but his actions were more controlled and civil; it didn't cause him too much pain now.

He stared at Alma, with wide, pain filled eyes. He couldn't form words to speak, but his eyes were demanding answers. He wanted to ask, 'what the hell had happen', but his throat was felt swollen. His words came out in mumbles and groans.

Alma was still facing the chamber's wall where Beckett's astral self had been standing. She had heard Beckett's screams, but she didn't flinch at the sounds. Alma lowered her head slowly, and softly patted her stomach. Beckett heard Alma speak, but her words were too soft to hear. She was talking to her baby.

Beckett, wanting her attention, thrashed in the chair, groaning at her. He wanted answers.

Sensing his pleas, Alma turned her torso and head till she could see Beckett, still struggling in the chair.

She stared at him with uncaring eyes. Her eyes glowed with a tinge of red against the blue of the Telesthetic Amplifier chamber, as did her pregnant stomach. Her eyes were burning with pain and hate. He knew these eyes.

Her eyes lost that burning fire as she opened her mouth.

'Sorry...' she said, sounding worry. 'She... doesn't know you... yet'

With that, Alma vanished. Her form dissolved in a dark flash, leaving Beckett alone once more.

Beckett screamed as he was left alone in the chamber. He had questions and they were left unanswered. Alma was able to come and go with ease, but he could not. This prison was meant for her, yet it could not contain her.

He thrashed in the chair, this time at his own accord. His actions weren't as wild or powerful as before, but they were more direct.

'_I want... OUT!_'


End file.
